Terms of Matrimony
by Galad Estel
Summary: AU: After Vernon is murdered by a death eater out to kill Harry, Severus Snape and Petunia Dursley are forced into a marriage by Dumbledore, who is eager to keep six year old Harry Potter safe. Will long time enemies Severus and Petunia be able to put past their differences and lay their pasts aside to raise Harry and Dudley?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

**Plot: Severus Snape and Petunia Dursley are two people who are not overly fond of Harry Potter or each other. But when Petunia's husband Vernon dies, Dumbledore orders that Severus and Petunia get married in order to protect a six year old Harry. Both have objections, but in the end Dumbledore's will prevails, and this unlikely couple must learn to live with each other despite their pasts and differences. Severus struggles with being married to a muggle and the sister of his dead love. Petunia struggles with being married to the unpleasant wizard whose actions led to the death of her sister. Harry struggles with his identity.**** Dudley has to deal with having a much stricter father.**

**Other players in this story: The Weasleys, Alastor Moody. Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy**

**Pairings: Severus Snape/Petunia Evans Dursley, Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy, and possibly some Bill Weasley/ Nymphadora Tonks**

**Other pairings may present themselves but that is all I have for now. Also, they may just be mentioned briefly, mostly canon pairings.**

**Ages of characters at the beginning: Petunia, about 27, Severus 26 (almost 27), Harry 6**

**-Galad Estel**

**Chapter One**

Petunia Dursley sat at her kitchen table rolling out dough for gingerbread, her blond hair imprisoned in curlers. It was late Friday morning, a week before Christmas, and her son Dudley was at school. Her nephew Harry was not however. The boy had gotten himself just sick enough so that he could stay home and be underfoot. All day, he had been dashing into the kitchen to steal food when he thought her back was turned. It was wearing her patience thin, though she had hardly said anything about it. She had snapped at him twice earlier, but then she had given up. It was just easier to pretend he did not exist.

"Aunt," a small voice said, "Auntie."

She turned to see Harry behind her. He was standing rocking from one foot to another, putting on the cutest face a six year old could manage.

"What?" she said. She sprinkled a small amount of floor on the gingerbread dough, so that it looked like a light snowfall on clay.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Yes, boy," she said, "If you want you can dust upstairs."

Petunia took out a heart shaped cutter and pushed it into the firm dough, rocked it back and forth, back and forth, like a cradle. She remembered how she had always hated children. Even when she was young, they had bothered her. They were so loud and disruptive, untidy. She had never wanted to be a mother, but when Dudley was born she had loved him. Dudley had come from her body. He had been part of her, and he gave her things to do to keep her from thinking. She had felt useful, almost like her own person.

"I…I meant with the cookies," Harry mumbled, "I'd like to help with the biscuits."

Petunia stared at the thin boy in front of her. He was swimming in Dudley's old clothes. He looked pale and sickly, and not just because of his recently acquired cold. Harry always seemed frail, like he would just fade away. He constantly reminded her of her loss. He was so like his mother, Lily.

Lily had taken everything. She was the magical girl with bright green eyes and deep red hair that would fly out around her when she twirled, and stay up even when she stopped moving. Her parents had doted on Lily but had never paid mind to the dreams of their older daughter, Petunia. When they had been young, Petunia and Lily had been as close as sisters could be, but as time went on Lily kept on drifting and drifting away. The further she drifted, the harder her parents clung to her. Until they worshipped the owls that brought Lily's letters. Then Potter came, tall, dark and handsome, a prince charming for the spoiled princess, and Lily was gone completely, whisked away to a happily-ever-after that ended with her sudden death.

Lily had taken almost everything, but she had left one thing behind—Harry.

"Well, you can't," Petunia snapped, "You'll get everyone sick. You've done enough trouble…sneaking in, stealing food. I'll have to clean everything again, thanks to you. Now go back to your room, boy."

That sent the boy scurrying. Petunia cut more hearts, put them in a pan, shoved them in the oven, tried not to think. She turned on the wireless. Wham! was singing "Last Christmas". A silly, romantic Christmas song but she left it on. It made the kitchen feel a little less cold. She even tried singing a long for a while, but her voice caught. She turned her attention to the dishes instead, scrubbing them, putting them in drain. By the time she had finished, the biscuits were done baking. She set them out to cool.

Then her eyes turned to the rest of the kitchen. She filled a bucket with warm water and soap and started cleaning every surface in the room. Vernon would be home later. He would be happy to see his house was kept in order while he was gone.

A sharp wrapping on the door broke through Petunia thoughts. She wrung out her rag and placed it on the side of the bucket.

"Coming!" she called, wondering who could it be. Ever since Harry had been placed on their doorstop, they had had fewer and fewer visitors. The boy tended to scare people away.

"Open up!" Vernon's voice bellowed. Only there was something strange about it, like an echo of another's voice had bled in.

She scurried to the window and peered out. Vernon was standing on the doormat holding a large wreath with a red ribbon. He turned and saw her, glared like a bull. "Open up!"

Frightened, she ran to the door and turned the handle.

"It wasn't locked," she said breathlessly, peering out.

Vernon pushed past her into the house, dropping the wreath on the hall floor and making for the kitchen.

"Did you go to the post office?" Petunia asked, following him.

He turned blank eyes at her. His left hand reached into his right pocket and produced a few letters. He thrust them into her hands.

She looked them over; trying to see if there was anything there that would have made Vernon upset, but they were just Christmas cards from acquaintances.

"What's wrong, Vernon?" she asked, "Why aren't you at work?"

He turned away from her, did not answer. He started to open all the drawers looking inside.

"Are you drunk, Vernon? Why aren't you answering me?" Petunia's heart was pounding in her chest.

Vernon pulled a knife from the silverware drawer and pointed it at her. She screamed.

"Where's Harry?" Vernon said. His face was red going on purple; his eyes were thin lines in his face.

"I don't know," Petunia said, "Put the knife a way."

"Don't lie to me, woman!" He advanced on her, knife outward.

"I really don't know, Vernon. Please put the knife away." She backed away from him towards the telephone.

"Don't bother," Vernon snapped, "The line is cut."

"Vernon, have you gone insane? Vernon, I'm your wife, please, please put the knife away." Tears sparkled in Petunia's blue eyes.

"Where's the Potter brat?" Vernon insisted, running the knife along the contour of Petunia's breast. She reached back with her hand and felt the hardwood of the wall.

"I'm here," a small voice squeaked. Petunia let her eyes look away from Vernon for a second, and saw the boy, trembling in the doorway.

In an instant, Vernon had turned on him. The child fled away towards the stairs.

"No, Harry!" Petunia shrieked, "He'll catch you that way!"

Harry hastily changed direction, making for the door, but Vernon lunged forward and grabbed at Harry's neck. Harry screamed. Vernon yelped and fell to his knees, knife still clutched in his right hand. His left hand reached out for Harry, but there seemed to be an invisible barrier between them.

"Curse you, boy," Vernon growled. Then he turned the knife on himself and slit his throat. Petunia felt another scream tear through her throat and then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks everyone for reviewing. I'm glad so many of you seemed interested in what will happen next. This chapter still mainly focuses on Petunia and Harry. Severus Snape should be in the next one though. This chapter also contains a flashback with Lily. I will probably put in a few flashbacks here and there. I'm not sure how well, they'll weave in, but we'll see.-Galad Estel**

**Chapter Two**

"Wake up," a small voice said, "Please, please wake up!"

A hand tugged at her shirtsleeve. Petunia reached out to push it away. Everything was a fog when her lids opened. She stared up into two familiar eyes, green and almond shaped.

"Lily, please," she murmured, "say it is all a dream."

"I'm Harry," the voice said. Slowly the world came into focus. She saw the rest of the face. The tiny chin, the trembling lips, the small, turned up nose, the wispy eyebrows and the messy bangs. This was her nephew. Her sister was dead. Looking over she saw Vernon on the floor drenched in his own blood. He was dead too. She closed her eyes.

"No sleep," Harry demanded. A small fist drummed her cheek. She opened her eyes again and forced herself to sit up. There were splotches of blood on her apron, along with the ginger stains. Vernon was spilling all over the cold, white tile.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Petunia said. She reached out and grabbed the side of the counter, pushed herself to her feet. She picked up the telephone, but the line was dead. Still feeling dizzy, she stepped carefully across the kitchen, avoiding Vernon's large body, and opened the fridge. The only juice she had was red. She poured herself a glass and forced herself to drink it, though it made her sick. She needed the strength.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Harry said, looking down at Vernon.

Petunia nodded.

"Like my mum and dad."

Petunia nodded again, unable to speak. She was trying to figure out what had happened. What could have made Vernon act like that? And though she did not want it to, her mind kept on going back to magic. Vernon must have been under a spell. It was the only logical answer.

From there her mind went quickly back to the last time she had seen Lily, six years ago, early April 1980. It had been another bitter day, the day of their parents' funeral.

* * *

Petunia knelt by the grave, in the shadows of the trees. The ground was cold under her legs. Her loose hair half covered her face, as she stared with pale, empty eyes at the road leading away from the cemetery. Lily was late in coming; she had missed the funeral.

Vernon stood near by, hands tucked in pockets. He did not know how to comfort Petunia. Every time he tried, she pulled away. She was burning up inside, angry at life for taking them so soon. She was twenty-one and expecting her first child; she wanted her mother.

"I'll go get the car," Vernon said finally. They had parked down the hill from the graveyard, to allow space for other mourners, who had left already.

Petunia nodded and watched his back until he disappeared over the hill. Then she turned and touched the gravestone, where her parents' names were chiseled in deep.

"Tuney?" a soft voice said from behind her. Petunia turned to see Lily standing there. The sun lit Lily's hair like a halo, making her look like a pregnant Madonna; her belly round under the lavender ruffles of her robes.

"It's over," Petunia snapped. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood up, dusting the dirt from her black skirt.

"I'm sorry," Lily said, "I would have come earlier…but we had to make sure it was safe."

"What are you talking about?" Petunia hissed, "What wouldn't be safe about laying our mother and father to rest? They adored you! And you wouldn't even take time out of your charmed life to bury them. What? Did you think death would affect your…freakishness?"

Lily flinched. For a moment Petunia thought she might start shouting or crying, but Lily calmed herself.

"Tuney," she said as she were talking to a young child, "As I've said before, there are things I can't tell you. It's against our laws to tell muggles—"

"Oh, shut up," Petunia sniffed, "I've heard it a million times before. And don't call me Tuney. I hate that name."

There was a pause.

"How did they die," Lily said. It was not a question.

"Carbon Monoxide poisoning. " Petunia bottomed up her spring jacket, slipped on her black gloves.

Lily shook her head.

Petunia looked intently at her sister; Lily's hands were shaking. "That's what the doctor said…"

"It looks similar," Lily said quietly. Her eyes were riddled with grief and guilt.

Petunia gasped. "Oh, my God, Lily! Tell me you didn't kill them!"

For a moment, all was silent. Then Lily broke down in tears. Reaching out, she grabbed at a tree trunk to steady herself.

"Not on purpose?" Petunia felt cold all over.

"Not me," Lily said, shaking her head vigorously, "I didn't do it. How could you believe that? But they were after me."

"Who? What are you talking about?"

"They planned this funeral to get us to come out in the open—"

"Who?"

"I…I can't tell you."

Petunia looked down at the grave. "You can't tell me how my own parents died."

"No," Lily said, "I can't. I'm sorry. All I can tell you is that the people who killed them are both cruel and deadly. They could force you to kill yourself and make it look like suicide. They could force you to kill other people, people you love. They'll stop at nothing to get what they want."

"What do they want?" Petunia asked.

Lily sighed. "I can't tell you that."

"They're _your _kind?" Petunia whispered.

"Yes."

The sound of an engine startled them both. Vernon's Ford Escort was rumbling up the road towards them.

"I've got to go," Lily said quickly. "I just came to warn you. Whatever you do, don't stay here long, and not alone. Be careful."

She walked behind a tree and disappeared.

Petunia stood staring after her, until Vernon touched her arm.

"Ready to go, dear?" he asked. She nodded and let him guide her to car.

* * *

Petunia felt as helpless that day, as she did now, cold, empty and scared.

"Harry," she said softly. He looked up at her, his face round and innocent.

They wanted the boy. That is what Dumbledore had been put down in the letter. They wanted the boy. As long as he remained under her roof, he would be safe because of her blood. But her family was not safe. There was no magical charm that kept Dudley from dying. They wanted the boy. If Harry went, they would leave her alone. If she threw Harry out onto the streets, he would die, but Dudley would live.

She felt her heart throb in her chest. She heard the loud ticking of the cuckoo clock, the low hum of the fridge, and the boy's breath. Everything else was silent.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked.

She fumbled with her aprons strings, untied them, and threw the apron on the laundry hamper.

"We can't stay here," she said. She had chosen. As much as she preferred Dudley over Harry, she could not just throw the boy to death. t would be monstrous.

"Where will we go?" Harry asked.

"I don't know yet."

Petunia tried not to look at Vernon. She knew if she did, she would break down. She had never truly loved Vernon. She might have thought so once, when she was a girl of eighteen, and he was the only man who had looked twice at her. No, she had never truly loved him, but she had been fine with that. Vernon had shown her that there was someone in the world who would actually prefer her company to her sister's, even if it were only because Petunia listened patiently to all his conceited chatter. He had given her shelter and security. She had felt safe when Vernon was near her. He had been so tall and strong, but now he lay lifeless on the kitchen floor.

"Excuse me," a deep, calm voice said from behind her.

Petunia turned to see a tall, broad shouldered black man in dark clothes that sort of resembled a police uniform.

"Is this Number Four, Privet Drive?" he asked.

She nodded.

"And are you…Petunia Dursley?"

"Yes," she said. She wondered where the man had come from and what he was doing in her house.

The man looked down at Vernon's body.

"I didn't do it," Petunia said quickly.

"I know ma'am. This here is the work of Walden Macnair, Death Eater and Professional Executioner. Don't worry, he'll pay."

"Are you part of some sort of police?" Petunia asked.

"I am Kingsley Shacklebolt," the man said, "My comrades and I are Aurors from the Mnstry. I'm deeply sorry we didn't get here sooner."

"Why _are_ you here?" Petunia asked.

"To get you out." Kingsley turned to Harry. "You must be Harry Potter."

Harry nodded.

"You look like your dad," Kingsley said smiling sadly.

"Do I?" Harry asked.

Kingsley nodded then turned back to Petunia. "We have to go. I'll take Harry first. A couple of my crew are in your living room, so don't freak out. We've got you covered."

"What about Dudley?" Petunia asked.

"I've got a man for him too," Kingsley said reassuringly, "Don't worry. He'll be okay."

"And where are you taking us?"

"There will be time for questions later. For now let's just say its warm, dry, and safer than here."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Sorry for the delay. The Power has been down here lately. Off and on. Anyway, again, thanks for your reviews. They are much loved. - Galad Estel**

**Chapter Three**

The storm howled against the crumbling brick houses of Spinner's End. Wind tore through the broken windows and banged against the rotting doors. Rain and hail pounded on the roofs, knocking down the pointed icicles. The streetlights were dim or dark; their poles bent, but candles glinted in one cold living room. From his chair, Severus Snape watched the frosted windows bleed.

Usually, Severus spent his Christmases at the school, away from the decay of his house, but he had grown weary of Hogwarts. The merry fires, the twinkling candles, the decorated trees, the sweets and the singing house elves, they all seemed to tell him one thing, that he did not belong there. They were filled with light, while he was a part of the darkness.

Dumbledore had advised against spending Christmas alone. Sometimes the old wizard seemed to worry about him, but Severus knew that it was only because he was part of the plan. An important part it seemed, maybe a rook in the game, or a bishop. He was still the spy and the potions master. He had changed masters. That was all.

Only Dumbledore was kinder. He smiled benignly behind those old half moon spectacles and gave Severus books and presents and did not allow him to die.

Severus remembered the first year he had left the dark lord's service. He had tried to drink himself into oblivion, like his dead father had. Dumbledore had not allowed it, cursing him so that alcohol could no longer affect his body. Dumbledore had told him kindly that he had to go on. That he had work to do still in the world, to make amends for his sins. Severus had hated him for that.

Now he felt nothing.

Severus looked over on the books on his shelves. Dark ones, black ones, bound in leather, the hides of dead animals. He smiled bitterly and reached for a volume. It had a weak spine, a cracked cover. The faded silver letters read: _Potions to Remember. _It had been Lily's.

He flipped through the book, his eyes catching on her handwritten notes, and notes he had thrown in himself, when they had worked together on projects. Her letters were thick, strong, and wild, while his were small and only noticeable for their neatness. His notes explained how a potion could be made easier, while hers ranged from potion tips—where one could find the best herbs, the dangers of Polyjuice Potion, etc—to full drawn (and ridiculous) predictions for everyone in the classroom. Though he remembered that she had also been taking Divination at the time, so that would explain it. How strange that it was her life that ended because of a prophecy. He slammed the book shut and slammed it back on the shelf.

Suddenly, there was a cry. Severus listened. He could hear the steady drip of rain on snow, and the swish of boots skidding through the slush outside. Boys ran by his window, so close that their knitted hats rubbed against his pane. They moved, tumbling, shouting. Their voices started to fade. Then a scream broke against the heavy wind.

Severus sprang from his chair and hurried to the window. He tried to push it open, but it was frozen shut. So, he ran to the door and looked out. Across the streets, four boys were pummeling another smaller one, who was screaming, cursing and scratching. Anger swept through Severus. He felt a sudden and unwanted connection between himself and the beaten boy, remembering days when it was his own eyes that glared up in fear. He gripped the doorframe hard, as the wind slapped cold rain against his cheeks and blew through his long black hair.

"What is all this racket?" he roared. The tormentors stopped and turned, their faces white with fear.

"We didn't know anyone lived here," one boy muttered in confusion.

"Well, I do," Severus hissed, "So scram before I decide to call the police."

The four boys exchanged looks.

"I said scram!" Severus said lunging forward, his bare feet pounding the wet ground. The boys fled leaving their victim a trembling heap on the ground. Severus bent over the boy, who balled his fists in fear; the boy was unkempt, uncared for.

"Be more careful next time," Severus said flatly. He turned heel and walked back into his house. The boy would have to learn to take care of himself, to be cautious and cold. Severus closed the door on him.

And that is when he noticed it. On the mat inside the door, the Dailey Prophet lay wet, where an owl had left it. The ink was smudged, but the message was clear:

DARK MARK SPOTTED OVER SURREY


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** **Thanks everyone for your reviews. **

**Chapter 4**

The Burrow was warm. There was a fire on, high and crackling. Blankets were draped over the windows, keeping out the dark. Molly Weasley was bent over the stove, adding salt to the mashed potatoes. Dipping a spoon in, she tasted them, frowned and added milk. Then she tasted them again. This time she smiled, a smile that crinkled up her eyes and set dimples on her ruddy cheeks. Lifting up her wand, she muttered a spell. Soon the potatoes were mashed to the perfect consistency.

Molly smiled again and turned away from the stove. She looked out at the rest of the kitchen, which was a messy bustle of old clothes and laughter. Her younger children were all home. Fred and George, both aged eight, and Ginny, the baby of the family at five, were seated in a circle on the floor playing the Go Fish game Arthur had brought home from work. Arthur loved all muggle things and had a tendency to bring odd fragments of that other world home with him.

Percy, aged ten, was trying to teach muggle chess to his six-year-old brother Ron. (Molly had thought wizarding chess too violent for little Ron). They were seated at either side of the kitchen table with the chessboard between them. Percy, who was playing blacks, was sitting quite straight in his chair, with the rules of the games tucked under his right hand and Scabbers the rat perched on his left shoulder. Ron, who was playing white, was fidgeting with his bishop. He squinted his eyes in concentration and moved the piece sideways to capture Percy's knight.

"No, Ron," Percy said. He took his knight back and put Ron's bishop back in place. "You can't move your Bishop there."

"Why not?" Ron asked.

"Because the Bishop can only move _diagonally_," Percy told him, "I told you that already."

Ron frowned but moved his rook instead. Percy quickly captured the rook with his queen.

"Hey!" Ron said, "Not fair. You moved your queen straight before and now diagonally."

"That's because," Percy said slowly, "The queen can move both straight and diagonally."

"You made that up," Ron said. His pout ran up into his blue eyes. Molly turned back to the stove to make sure the sausages were not burning, but she continued to listen to her boys. The last thing she needed was fight, but she also wanted to see if they could resolve their disagreement on their own.

"I did not," Percy said offended.

"Did too," Ron said, making his voice rise higher. Molly opened the oven and lifted out a loaf of steaming hot bread.

"The queen outranks the bishop," Percy said trying to sound older, "So, she has more power over where she can move."

"Fine!" Ron said. Molly heard the soft clink of wood on wood. Then Ron cried out triumphantly. "Checkmate."

"You can't do that!" Percy wailed, "The king can only move one step at a time."

"But the king outranks the queen," Ron said.

Molly shook her head and smiled. Ron was a clever boy. She picked her wand up, using it to take off the slightly burnt bottom of the bread. She frowned and looked at her clock. It was late, but Arthur was still not at home. The clock said he was traveling.

"Why does the king outrank the queen?" Ginny piped in from her pink pillow on the floor. She fixed Ron and Percy with large, inquiring brown eyes. Molly looked over at her only daughter. Ginny looked a perfect doll with her rosy cheeks, ribbon-laced red hair and lacy white dress. Silently, Molly prayed that she would not grow up too fast.

Percy let out a huge sigh. "The king outranks the queen, because the game ends when he is captured. The king does not move as much as the others, because he has others who guard him and who can move for him."

"The King is so fat," Fred threw in, "that he can only waddle."

He moved sluggishly forward on his knees and knocked over the pile of cards. Ginny burst into a fit of giggles.

"Hey, you knocked over the cards," George said. He moved to pick them up.

"It was boring anyway," Fred said.

"Only because you were loosing," George said.

"I was not!"

"That's enough of that," Molly said sternly, "Stop squabbling or you'll be sent to bed without supper. Percy, would you please set the table?"

"Yes, mother," Percy said. He began picking the pieces off the chessboard and putting them away.

"Go Fish is boring," Fred mumbled, "I wish Bill would bring back Exploding Snap."

"That would be cool," George agreed.

"I won," Ron told Percy.

"You cheated," Percy said. He put the chess set back on its shelf near the window.

"Please, Percy," Molly said, "He's too young to understand."

Percy nodded gravely. He got a stack of chipped plates from the cupboard.

"I'm not too young," Ron protested.

Molly chose to ignore him. It was senseless arguing with a six-year-old. Instead she watched Percy, who was setting out the plates and silverware with the care a waiter who worked at an elegant restaurant. He was a delightfully odd child.

A splutter from the fireplace caught Molly's attention. She turned to see Dumbledore's face etched in flames. Her cheeks burnt hot.

_I knew it_, she thought, _they are going to take Bill's prefect badge away_. _Minerva told me he has been acting out lately._

"Good evening, Molly," Dumbledore said.

"Good evening," she said back, biting her lip.

"Where's Arthur?" The fiery eyes were searching the room intently.

"He should be coming home soon," Molly said. She looked at the door.

"I have something important to tell both of you. Have you read the papers lately?"

Molly shook her head. "No, our owl was injured a week back. He still hasn't recovered fully. Arthur said he would get one from town today."

"Doubtless he already knows."

"Already knows what?" Molly demanded. She felt her heart tighten.

"There has been an attack made on Harry Potter." The burning face faded in and out.

"By whom? Is he all right?" Molly heard the fright in her own voice. She had to keep herself steady, for the children. Ginny looked like she might cry.

"The boy is all right. The papers call him 'The Boy Who Lived Again'."

Molly let out a long sigh on relief.

"His uncle however," Dumbledore hissed low, so only Molly who was closest could hear, "did not survive the attack. And we can't trust the boy in Little Whinging anymore."

"I'd take him," Molly said quickly.

"I know you would, dear," Dumbledore said with a benevolent smile, "But you have your family to look after. It would be too dangerous. There is to be a meeting as to what should be done. Your brothers were both valuable members of the Order, and you and your husband have always been supportive of our causes, so it seems only right that you should have a say in the matter."

Just then, the door banged open. Molly turned sharply to see Arthur walk in with Bill and Charlie, their older boys, tucked under his arms.

"Where have you been?" Molly snapped.

"Christmas shopping," Bill said brightly, dangling a shopping bag in front of her face. "I thought you'd be happy to see us. We're finally home from school."

He bent and kissed her. He was so tall, but then again he was sixteen. Children could not stay children forever. He still looked as handsome as ever.

Charlie put down his bags and hugged her. "Missed you, mum."

"I missed you too, Charlie," Molly said. She felt tears start to climb to her eyes. She brushed them aside. "Arthur, something happened."

"The Death Eater attack?" Arthur took his coat off and hung it on the peg near the door. "Yes, I heard about it at work. Ghastly business."

Molly looked over at the children. Fred and George, Ron, and Ginny were all clinging to Bill and Charlie and asking what they had got from them, while Percy stood at a bit of a distance and smiled shyly at his older brothers.

"What makes you think we got you anything?" Bill teased, lifting Ginny up into his arms.

"Ahem," the fire crackled.

Everyone turned.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your lovely reunion," Dumbledore said, "But I've got things to do. Right now, Harry and his aunt and cousin are at a safe house, but we have to think of a more permanent way of dealing with the situation. The Order is being gathered again, if you wish to join—"

"But there isn't going to be another war, is there?" Charlie's face was pale.

"I don't know," Dumbledore said, "I sure hope it does not come to that. But Arthur, Molly, if you are interested, we are going to have a meeting at the school tomorrow. A sort of parent-teacher conference of select members if you know what I mean."

Molly nodded and squeezed Arthur's hand.

"We'll be there," Arthur said.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Thank you everyone for your reviews, favorites, and follows-Galad Estel**

**Chapter 5**

"Good morning."

A brisk, clear voice woke Petunia from a succession of nightmares. She looked up into the forbidding face of Minerva McGonagall. They had met the two days ago when Shacklebolt had brought Petunia to the cottage.

(Shacklebolt has used some sort of magical transportation, which he referred to as "side along apparition". It made Petunia shudder to recall. First, it had felt like being squeezed in an iron hand, and then nails dug into her abdomen and yanked her to somewhere else. From place to place they had gone without proper time to catch one's breath. Shacklebolt had called it "bouncing" and seemed to find it rather exhilarating. It only made Petunia sick.)

Minerva McGonagall was a tall, trim woman with black hair, square spectacles and a sharp tongue. She could be middle-aged or older, but she was as full of energy as someone who had never passed twenty. Her wardrobe seemed to consist of robes and dresses: green and tartan, slippers, shawls, and pointed shoes. Oh, and a crooked pointed hat that McGonagall kept on a hat stand near the door.

McGonagall was the owner of the cottage. Petunia had not seen the outside of the cottage, but the inside was much to her liking. It was small, white and tidy with a few watercolors hung up here and there. There were two bedrooms, a bath, a living room, and a kitchen. Petunia had to admit—even though she suspected McGonagall of being a witch—the cottage was much to her liking. Everything was in place, and it was quiet. Something Petunia's house seldom was. Vernon loved to watch the telly, and he would crank the volume up loud. (Also, he had a habit of shouting).

"Are you hungry?" McGonagall asked. She had drawn a chair up to the bed. "I've got some soup on the stove."

Petunia shook her head; lay it back down on her pillow. Last night, they had moved everyone again. The first night, Dudley and Harry had been put together, but they had gotten in a fight, so now Petunia and Dudley shared the full bed, while Harry was on a cot in McGonagall's room.

By the light coming in from the window, Petunia guessed it was mid-morning. Dudley was still asleep, his round cheeks resting on the pillow beside her, his small fist grasping a clump of her hair. She smiled slightly and petted his head. She had not yet had the heart to tell him of his father's death.

"It would be healthy to eat," McGonagall said sternly. She brought Petunia a bowl of chicken soup and stared at her intently, until Petunia picked up the silver spoon. "That's better."

Dudley stretched in his sleep and licked his lips, as if the smell of the soup was entering into his dreams. Then his eyes flickered open.

"Hungry," he whimpered. Automatically, Petunia handed him her bowl, but McGonagall frowned.

"I can get him his own," McGonagall said, "He can wait a minute."

McGonagall left the room and came back with another bowl.

"Where's Harry?" Petunia asked offhand.

"Who cares?" Dudley scowled.

McGonagall frowned again. "He's your cousin. You should care about him. As to your information, Petunia, he's taking a bath. It's nice of you to show some concern after treating the child like dirt these past five years."

Petunia cringed. McGonagall shook her head and handed Dudley the bowl. Dudley began gulping down the soup.

"Just a minute, young man," McGonagall said, "I believe you forgot to say something."

"Say what?" Dudley asked. He looked up at his mother for help. Petunia shrugged.

"'Thank you'," McGonagall said crisply. Then turning to Petunia, she added, "Haven't you taught him any manners?"

Petunia felt blood rush to her face. "I, uh. Dudley usually…"

"Thank you," Dudley said suddenly from behind them. McGonagall turned to him and smiled.

"That's better," she said. "See, all he needs is proper handling. You can't love a boy properly if you are afraid of him."

"I'm not afraid of him!" Petunia snapped. Dudley continued to eat undisturbed.

"Aren't you now?" McGonagall said, her tone slightly mocking, "Then why do you let him walk all over you? Why do you show yourself so weak? You're afraid of him, and you're afraid of Harry too, otherwise why would tread him down? You either squash them or worship them, but children need love. Firm and gentle hands to guide them through life, to make them better people."

Petunia looked down at the carrots in her bowl, her cheeks blazing. "I…I try my best."

"Well, if that is your best," McGonagall said, "You have no right to be a mother."

Petunia shook her head; she was starting to cry, and she did not know to stop. This was just too much. Vernon was dead, and she was stuck here with these strange people, and now one of them was telling her that she was a bad mother. She pushed her bowl away and buried her head in the pillows. (Dudley copied her, pushing his empty bowl onto the floor and curling up under the quilt.)

Suddenly, Petunia felt a hand touch her shoulder. She looked up into McGonagall's green eyes. They were different now; the cool anger that had been there was partially replaced by tenderness.

"Yes, cry, child," McGonagall said, "Cry. It will do you good."

McGonagall sat down on the bed beside Petunia and started stroking her back. Dudley watched them from where he lay, half hidden under the quilt. Petunia felt she should be offended at being called a child, but she could not bring herself to be. It had been a long time since she could really talk to another woman, and the back rub felt surprisingly good.

"I…I," Petunia began, swallowing back sobs. "I just never knew what to do. We were trying to help Harry, honest. We thought that if he were not magical, if we could suppress that instinct, he could be a normal person, live a normal life. Being a witch never did Lily any good, did it? It killed her. That's what it did. Magic has come to mean death to me. Vernon, he said to make Harry normal we had to be hard on him, that in time Harry would realize…it was for his own good…"

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully.

"But Petunia," she said sternly, "Magic does not work like that. You cannot force magic out of someone, just like you cannot force it in. You could never be a witch, nor Harry a muggle. It's a part of you that can never change. I thought that you understood that."

"How can I understand something that was never explained to me?" Petunia cried, "All these years I've been groping in the dark. The boy he does strange things..terrible things..."

"Such as?" McGonagall said. Her eyes were alight with curiosity.

"He sets things on fire...makes some things explode...others just disappear...I don't know what to do about it,

And now Vernon's gone."

Dudley's eyes widened. "Where has Daddy gone? Is he coming back?"

Petunia turned to him and shook her head. "No, he can't come back."

"Why not?" Dudley asked, "Daddy can do anything. Why won't he come back?"

Petunia tried to hold him, but Dudley pulled away.

"Where's Daddy?" he demanded. "I want my Daddy!"

"Dudley," Petunia said, "Dudders, dear, Daddy's dead."

"He can't be dead," Dudley howled, "I won't let him be dead. I want my Daddy!"

He began pounding the bed with his fists. Petunia watched him, not knowing what to do. She touched his arm, but he only screamed and yanked away.

"I want Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Dudley was red in the face and crying.

"Dudley," Petunia said, "Please, don't cry, love. I'll make you a cake."

"I don't want cake!" Dudley screamed, "I want my Daddy!"

He threw himself onto his back and kicked the air with his arms and legs. His face was starting to turn blue.

"What do I do?" Petunia gasped, "What do I do?"

"Let him be," McGonagall said.

"He'll cry himself sick!"

"Let him. I have to go check on Harry." McGonagall got up and left the room.

Not knowing what else to do, Petunia obeyed. She watched her son, until Dudley was panting on the bed, too tired to fight. Then she reached out and pulled him into her arms. This time he stayed. He was so warm. It was comforting to hold him. She kissed his soft cheeks and played with tufts of his gold hair.

"I love you," she told him, "And your father loved you. You have to understand that. He did not want to leave—"

"But he's gone," Dudley sniffed.

"Yes," Petunia said, "but that's because someone bad took him away."

"Who?"

"Someone named Macnair."

"Is he dead too?" Dudley asked wishfully.

"I don't know," Petunia said, "But that Shacklebolt fellow seemed to think he'd be caught."

Dudley nodded. "I hope they catch him."

Petunia nodded and kissed his forehead. "I'm sure they will."

Ten minutes later, McGonagall came back, carrying Harry in her arms. She put him down in front of her, in front of the bed.

"Doesn't he look nice?" she said.

Harry's hair was wet and spiky, and he was dressed in a bright red, floor length robe. As soon as he was put down, he began examining the loose ends of his sleeves.

_He's his father all over again,_ Petunia thought. _Well, he'll do better here with his kind._

"It looks like a dress," Dudley snorted.

"It's a robe," Harry said, "All wizards wear them."

"You're not wizard," Dudley said.

"Yes, I am," Harry said quickly.

"Dawlish is a wizard," Dudley said, "He can fly. What can you do?"

Harry looked flustered. He looked up at McGonagall for help.

"Well," McGonagall said, "He can't do much yet—though I have heard he has a habit of exploding things—but when he gets older he'll be a very powerful wizard, that's for sure."

There was a glint of jealousy in Dudley's blue eyes. Petunia thought she saw a shadow of herself there, or the girl she used to be.

"You'd better bathe next, Petunia," McGonagall said, "Dumbledore wishes to see you today."

Petunia looked up startled.

"I've laid out clean towels, and you can change into this." McGonagall held up a set of silvery robes.

Petunia stared at them. "Why would I wear that?"

McGonagall lowered the robes frowning. "Because the town we are staying in is an all wizard community, and it would be quite a shock to see someone walking about in muggle garb."

"Why do _I _have to go see him," Petunia protested. "Why can't he come here?"

"For some reason," McGonagall said, "he thought you'd like to see the school."

_So_, Petunia thought, _he wants to wave it front of my eyes. Show me what I could not have._

"Fine," Petunia said, "I'll go, but I'll go as myself."

She walked over to the suitcase of her clothes that the Aurors had brought over and pulled out a skirt, blouse, and tights. She walked into the bathroom and shut the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Thanks again for your reviews. This chapter is in the perspective of Nymphadora Tonks, but it also follows Petunia's walk to Hogwarts. Tonks is fourteen in this chapter.**

**Chapter 6**

The Three Broomsticks was warm, after the cold of the streets. Nymphadora Tonks scanned the pub for familiar faces, but the only person she knew was the landlady, Madam Rosmerta, who was wiping the counter at the bar. The inn was filled with witches and wizards from all parts of Britain and even from the continent; their accents mingled in the smoke.

Tonks approached the counter. "Two butterbeers if you please."

Rosmerta smiled then looked up and shook her head. "Dora?"

Tonks nodded, grinning. She had done herself up as girl from a Victorian Christmas card with blond curls, round, rosy cheeks, and bright, blue eyes. Though Tonks as a metamorphagus often changed her hair color or some small part of herself, she had decided to go a little overboard for the holidays this year. After all, she was really starting to master the skill of morphing, and she liked seeing people's reactions.

"Well, I never." Rosmerta wiped the sweat from her brow. "You gave me a start. But you're always changing, aren't you?"

"A new look every week," Tonks joked. "How much for the butterbeer?"

"Four sickles," Rosmerta said quietly. A group of Ministry men stomped in, shaking the snow off their boots and whispering to each other over the morning's paper. Rosmerta leaned forward as if to listen, but their voices could not be heard over the din or the distance. Tonks handed the sickles over, and Rosmerta quickly straightened up and whisked them out of sight.

"I wonder what your husband going to think about that, when you get one," Rosmerta muttered, filling two tankards with hot butterbeer. "He goes to sleep with one woman and wakes up with another."

"Actually," Tonks said, "I think that's part of my appeal. I could be any man's fancy."

Rosmerta frowned slightly, setting the tankards down on the counter. "And what do your parents think about that?"

"Well, my mother thinks I'm getting rather vain," Tonks said quickly, "but she and I don't often see eye to eye, and my dad…well, my dad still sees me as his little girl, and I guess that's sort of true. I mean I've never really been with a bloke. Oh, I've kissed a couple, but nothing serious."

"Waiting for the right one?" Rosmerta chuckled. "Bright girl." She filled a mug with spiced mead and handed it off to a witch from France. "Got anyone in mind? Who's the other drink for? An invisible friend?"

Tonks blushed. "It's for my dad. He's supposed to meet me here."

"And the fellow?" Rosmerta asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"How do you know there is one?" Tonks said, tilting her head to one side.

Rosmerta handed a large pewter mug filled with black liquor off to a goblin. "The look on your picture-book face."

Tonks blush deepened, and she looked towards the door. "I wonder what's taking him so long."

"You father," Rosmerta teased, "Or the bloke whose supposed to ask you out?"

"Both," Tonks said, releasing a laugh.

"Is he very handsome?" Rosmerta asked.

"Terribly."

"Intelligent?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Brave?"

"Well, he's in Gryffindor, so yes."

"Gryffindor, aye?" Rosmerta said, "Well, that narrows it down some. Is he reckless?"

"Yes," Tonks said, blushing even harder.

"Ah," Rosmerta shook her head, "You're smitten. Do you know if you stand a chance?"

"Can't say," Tonks said, "But I'm not one to give up easily."

Rosmerta laughed. "That's the spirit, and there's your father."

Tonks turned to see her father walking towards her. His heavy winter boots seemed to bend the wooden planking as he walked. Ted Tonks was a large-bodied, blond man nearing forty.

"Hi, Dad," Tonks said. "Where've you been?"

"Had to go to the post office," Ted Tonks returned.

"Oh," Tonks said, feeling suddenly gloomy. She picked up the mugs of butterbeer and headed over to a table near the window. "You didn't send out mother's cards...to _them_."

"Of course," Ted Tonks said.

"Why does she bother?" Tonks mumbled. They settled down at the table. Tonks pulled off dark blue coat and put it on the back of her chair.

"They're her family," Ted said, "Whatever else they might be."

"No," Tonks snapped, "They aren't. They disowned her. Remember?"

"Feelings don't die as easily as that."

"They _never _write back," Tonks said glaring down at her butterbeer. "She's just setting herself up to be disappointed, and she does this _every_ year."

"Your mother gave up a lot when she married me—"

"No, she didn't," Tonks hissed, "because she's obviously still clinging to it."

"Nymphadora…" Ted said sternly.

"Yes!" Tonks interrupted. "Like that! Like that blasted name! It sounds like something a Black would call her baby."

"Dora," Ted said, "Someday when you are older—"

"—I'll understand?" Tonks finished for him. "I already understand. My mother's family is mad and depraved—her sister was a Death Eater—her other sister was married to a Death Eater—her cousin was a mass murderer—and the whole lot of them support the dark arts! What else is there to understand?"

"It's more complicated than that," Ted said.

He continued on but he had lost his daughter's interest. Tonks was looking out the window, blocking out his words. She took an occasional sip from her butterbeer, but other than that the streets of Hogsmeade had her full attention. Hogsmeade village was beautiful this time of year, with snow glazing the shops and cottages like icing on gingerbread. Shoppers flitted by in colored capes and thick furs looking like overgrown moths. In the square, a violin quartet was playing "Silent Night". A teenaged girl was pulling her little brother behind her in a sled. An old peddler was trying to sell older jewelry. It was snowing again. The shoppers pointed at the sky.

Watching the snowflakes plummet from the dark clouds, Tonks felt dizzy and lost. They were all falling, falling, falling. Tonks took a large gulp of her butterbeer, felt its warmth fill her body. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes.

"—just because you're fourteen and think you know everything," her father was still rambling on, "doesn't mean you do. Sometimes love can surpass prejudice. Sometimes love can be everything."

Tonks's eyes fluttered open. "You butterbeer is getting cold."

Ted stopped ranting and shook his head. "You're impossible."

Tonks smirked. "So, where are we going next? I've already covered Honeydukes." She held out a paper bag. "And Zonko's…anything else we need?"

Ted shrugged. "I have to stop by the greengrocer. Is there anywhere else _you'd _like to go?"

Tonks looked out the window again, examining the shops on the other side of the street, when she noticed a woman standing directly outside their window. The woman was wearing a long black, high-shouldered, gold zippered jacket and red boots. She was looking around nervously and fiddling with a piece of parchment.

"Do you think she's lost?" Tonks asked.

"Could be," Ted said.

Suddenly, a hag approached the woman. The hag's long fingers clawed at the parchment. She whispered words in the woman's ear that made the woman tremble and look around as if asking for help. A few people stared in their direction, but no one else came.

Tonks jumped out of her chair, throwing her coat over shoulder, and ran outside. The sudden cold made Tonks cringe; she pulled her coat on as her feet skidded across the icy sidewalk.

"Leave her alone!" she shouted at the hag.

"Why?" the hag asked smiling with broken teeth, "Do you know 'er? What is your business with this muggle?"

"Muggle," Tonks lied, "You must be mistaken. This is my friend."

"I know a muggle when I see one," the hag laughed. "Perhaps you are the one who snuck

'er in? She does not belong to tis place."

Tonks shook her head, trying to think of something to say. "She's muggleborn, not a muggle."

"Maybe she fool you," the hag replied, "but she no fool me."

Tonks drew a breath. "Muggles sometimes go to the school, to the see the games, perhaps she got lost."

"Are you lost?" the hag asked the woman.

"Yes," the woman said her cheeks pale, "I'm lost…"

"I can help you," the hag said with a greedy grin. She pushed Tonks roughly aside. Tonks slid on the ice, falling to her knees.

"Leave them alone," a voice growled. Tonks turned her head and saw her father standing there, an empty tankard in his right hand and his wand in his left.

The hag spat at him, dipped a mock curtsy in her ragged gown and then disappeared.

With her hand over her heart, the woman looked at the spot where the hag had been. "Why do they always do that?"

"_Are_ you a muggle, ma'am?" Ted Tonks asked.

The woman nodded still shaken. "Yes…yes, I am. I'm supposed to go to the school…to see…to see…Dumbledore."

"And he didn't send anyone to help you?"

"Well…" The woman reddened. "I thought I could get there myself…but I got confused."

Tonks pulled herself to her feet and brushed the snow off her jeans. "I could escort you there. Couldn't I, Dad? While you go to the grocer's?"

Ted Tonks looked nervous then nodded. "All right, but be sure you get home before nightfall. And keep your wand ready in case you run into trouble."

"All right," Tonks said quite pleased with herself. "Bye for now."

Father and daughter embraced, while the woman looked self consciously away, her fingers crumbling the parchment in her hand.

As soon as Ted had left, Tonks turned to the woman. "So I forgot to ask your name."

"Oh," the woman said with a half a smile, "It's Petunia, Petunia Dursley."

"Dursley?" Tonks said. She pulled a pair of purple gloves out of her coat pocket and slid them on. She had thought she had heard the name before, but she could not place it.

Petunia nodded. They walked awhile in silence. The sky kept looking darker and darker.

"I do not understand," Petunia said.

"Understand?" Tonks asked curiously.

"Why you came to my rescue. Did Dumbledore send you?"

"No," Tonks said, "Happy coincidence, that's all. Couldn't help seeing that you were in a spot of trouble."

"Well, I thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I really do. That woman, whoever she was…"

"She was a hag."

Petunia started. "Well, that's one way to put it," she said with half a smile.

"No, really," Tonks said, "She is. Or at least, I think she is. We turn left here. It's a shortcut."

They did not talk for a while after. Tonks was busy trying to get them to Hogwarts as quickly as possible before the full strength of the storm blew in. She went through a side path through a small wood, skirting the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Tonks had always had a love of danger, but she could see her companion did not share it. Petunia's eyes kept looking anxiously at the dark trees.

"We'll be all right if we move quickly and quietly," Tonks whispered, "It's not a full moon, so the werewolves won't give us trouble, and the centaurs are usually more docile in winter. The giant spiders are deeper in, and we haven't had any trouble with trolls lately."

This only seemed to heighten Petunia's fears. Tonks was a just little bit disappointed when nothing turned up and they made it safely out of the forest.

"So," Tonks said conversationally to Petunia, as they walked across the lawns of Hogwarts. "You have a son or daughter at the school?"

Petunia shook her head. "I had a sister, but she's dead now."

"I'm so sorry," Tonks said.

"It was years ago," Petunia said quickly. "Why are we going to this abandoned building?"

"Abandoned building?" Tonks asked.

"It says 'Keep Out'," Petunia said. "Can't you see the sign?"

Tonks stopped at the gates of Hogwarts. She saw the high towers of the castle, its high walls, and the lights glowing in the windows. She turned to see Petunia, her face white, hands trembling.

"You aren't some kind of spirit?" Petunia asked. "Bringing me here to die?"

"No, no," Tonks said. She felt pity shoot through her. Of course, the woman could not see the building. She was a muggle. "This is the school, only you can't see it yet."

Tonks pulled her wand out her jean pocket then stopped. If Petunia really were a muggle, then she could get in lots of trouble for performing magic in front of her. Yet Petunia had mentioned Dumbledore. What if she were lying? Tonks looked at Petunia. She was a thin woman, very thin, almost skeletal, as she worried too much and ate too little. She shook like a sapling in the wind.

Tonks lifted her wand and pointed it in the direction of the school. "Revelio!"

Nothing seemed to change. Only the sky seemed to be getting darker and darker.

"Can you see the school now?" Tonks asked.

Petunia nodded. She was staring hard in front of them. Tonks opened the gates, and they walked in together.


End file.
